


Grass Stains on Your Knees

by p1013



Series: Kinkuary 2021 [12]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Consensual Non-Consent, Crack, Getting Together, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other, POV Harry Potter, Plant sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:15:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29416230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p1013/pseuds/p1013
Summary: Draco scoffs and settles his satchel across his shoulders again. "It will be fine, Potter. After all, I'm out here with the school's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and the Saviour of the Wizarding World. What do I have to worry about?""I'm not worried about you," Harry mutters to himself as Draco trudges through the underbrush and into the shadowed depths of the Forest. "I'm worried about me."
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Original Character(s)
Series: Kinkuary 2021 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140512
Comments: 34
Kudos: 166
Collections: HP Kinkuary 2021





	Grass Stains on Your Knees

**Author's Note:**

> Day 13 - Consensual Non-Consent

"Are you sure about this?" Harry asks, hovering on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. "You heard what Neville said."

Draco scoffs and settles his satchel across his shoulders again. "It will be fine, Potter. After all, I'm out here with the school's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who also happens to be the Saviour of the Wizarding World. What do I have to worry about?"

"I'm not worried about you," Harry mutters to himself as Draco trudges through the underbrush and into the shadowed depths of the Forest. "I'm worried about _me_."

This isn't the first time that Draco's dragged them out on an adventure looking for potions ingredients. There'd been a trip to the Parisian catacombs, a dark and terrifying visit that haunted Harry's dreams for weeks after. Then to Egypt to find unused, sanctified mummy wraps. They'd been chased by a ghoul, the creature so old and powerful they felt it’s evil before seeing it, and Draco complained the entire week after about the shoe he'd lost as they fled.

"Bespoke Oxfords, Potter," he sighed into his supper. "300 Galleons and worth every Knut, now lost in some subterranean labyrinth, never to be found again."

Harry bought Draco a new pair of shoes just to shut him up.

Most recently, they'd gone to Bavaria and through a twisting series of caves until they'd eventually found a deep, still pool. The water glowed even though there was no light other than what came from their wands. So clear as to be almost invisible, when Harry had tasted it, it was like crystals on his tongue, cold and sharp and full of light.

He liked that one.

But this voyage, while significantly less of a jaunt than the others, makes Harry more uncomfortable than even the ghoul had. Though it's been years since his final fight with Voldemort, Harry hasn't gone back into the Forest since, not even as part of his DADA responsibilities.

It's a bit embarrassing after all of this time, but he knows that the Resurrection Stone is lost somewhere within, and a part of him fears stumbling across it again.

"Hurry up, Potter!" Draco calls from ahead, his voice ringing through the still too-quiet of the Forest. The noise makes Harry flinch. "You don't know what might be out here waiting to devour our nubile young bodies."

"You're thirty-one," Harry says. 

Draco throws a smirk over his shoulder. "And sexually viable and of marrying age, therefore _nubile_."

Harry rolls his eyes, though Draco can't see, and hurries to catch up.

"What're we out here to find, anyway?"

"It's a cousin of Devil's Snare." Draco looks around, then veers off the path with the confidence of a man who knows where he's going. "I need about a pound of its roots for this year's N.E.W.T.-level classes, and my regular supplier wasn't able to procure it for me."

"And Neville said it was safe."

Another heavy, world-weary sigh. "Yes, Potter. The plant is dormant in the winter. We'll be perfectly fine."

Harry refrains from mentioning that it's mid-March and winter passed about a month ago, but he definitely thinks it.

"We're nearly there," Draco says as he takes another turn down some imperceptible path.

If anyone had told him five years ago, when Draco first started teaching at Hogwarts, that the two of them would become thick as thieves, Harry would have laughed himself sick. There wasn't any animosity between them when Draco started, but there hadn't been any kindness, either. Just a simple, flat professionalism that Harry imagined would stay for years. 

But then Williams had arrived.

A first year Gryffindor with a point to prove about how much trouble one student could get into and an intelligence and fortitude that put Fred and George Weasley to shame, Williams quickly became as much of a nuisance as Peeves. The entire teaching staff banded together to try and wrangle his special breed of insanity, but because Harry and Draco were teaching the two subjects most likely to lead to bodily harm, they'd grown close.

 _Very_ close.

Williams had settled, thank God, but the what-if brewing between Draco and Harry had never gone away, instead settling to a low simmer that Harry did his best to not consider too closely while in public. It's the reason he's willing to go along on these wild escapades for musty fabric and glowing water and dirt-tangled roots. Draco says _come along, Potter_ , and Harry can't help but comply.

And as long as he's trailing behind the man, Harry can ogle his arse in peace.

It's the small things.

Draco stops and holds a hand out behind him. "Hold on a moment, Potter."

"What's the problem?" Harry asks in a whisper, his wand at the ready. "What'd you see?"

"Something in the underbrush. Just stay here."

"Draco, I don't think that's — " and the man disappears into the gloom.

Fantastic.

Cursing to himself, Harry casts every detection charm he can think of and comes up empty. He's considering whether he should cast a shield charm or a more generic repelling charm when Draco comes back, his hands and face streaked with dirt.

"Well, good news and bad news," he says, panting. "Good news is I found the plant."

"Bad news, it's not dormant?"

"Not even in the slightest." Draco pulls a tangled tendril from his hair and carefully sets it into his satchel. "And you are not going to like what we're going to have to do."

Harry frowns. "I'm guessing it's not 'wait until November and try again while the damned thing's asleep,' is it?"

"It is not."

Though Draco's _Lumos_ is dim, and the Forest around them is dark, Harry can still see a blush creep its way across Draco's cheeks.

"Am I going to have to cut off a toe or something?"

Draco blanches. "Oh, Merlin, no. Where would you get that idea?"

"I saw Dumbledore drink poison once, Malfoy. My concept of what I might be forced to do for the greater good is a tad bit skewed."

"You're the worst," Draco says, because Harry's told him before to not pity him for what he went through when they were younger. Draco falls back on insults because it's easier than a horrified apology. "There's no poisons, but there will be a bit of discomfort. I'll need you to keep guard while I let the damned plant fuck me."

If Harry were drinking something, he would have spit it out. "You have to _what_?!"

"I need the plant docile in order to harvest its roots, especially this large of a quantity. And much like its cousin, Devil's Snare, the Siren's Tether responds to its victim."

"Devil's Snare tightens when you struggle, but stops when you relax. Are you telling me that this plant falls asleep after it fucks someone?"

"Don't you?" At Harry's deadpan expression, Draco sighs. "It's more that the plant likes it when its victims struggle, and once it's satisfied — do not look at me like that, Potter — it falls into torpor. I could feed it a deer or something if you're going to be backwards about it, but this is honestly the easiest way to do things without anyone getting seriously hurt or killed."

"I can't even say it." Harry runs a hand through his hair, takes a few confused, furious (aroused) steps away, then turns back to Draco. "This is stupid."

"Potter, I have to get those roots or my entire year's worth of lesson plans will be ruined. I don't have time to completely redo the curriculum or find a N.E.W.T. level replacement in time. As much as I hate to say it, this is the only way."

"I don't think you hate to say it," Harry grouses. "I think you want to get fucked by the bloody thing."

The blush is back, deeper than before. "Ah… Well. It's not as if I've had any gentlemen callers as of late."

"So you're going to slum it with a shrub?" Harry feels like he's losing his mind. There's a buzzing in his head that he can't shake loose. "Why didn't you ask me?"

"You?" Draco laughs, a pure, crystalline sound that makes Harry think of deep caverns and cool water. "Why would I ask you?"

"Because I fancy you, you obtuse prat. Christ." Harry presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. "This is not how I wanted to have this conversation. And" — he pushes past Draco — "I am not letting you get fucked by a plant."

Draco hurries after Harry, his hand rough on Harry's shoulder as he tries to stop him. "I already told you, I have to get those roots."

"Which is why _I_ will let the damned plant fuck me, or at least let it try. You can start gathering the roots while it's busy, and we can hopefully get out of here before anything serious happens."

"Potter." Draco's hand is tight on Harry's wrist. "Harry, stop."

Harry stops.

"I didn't know." Draco's voice is tinged with wonder, and when Harry forces himself to look, Draco's smiling, his eyes bright with delight. "I had no idea. I'd've asked you months ago if I'd known."

Something tight in Harry's chest unfurls. "So you…"

"Yes, of course. I have eyes. Of course I fancy you."

Even confessing his attraction to Harry has to be sarcastic. It's as charming as it shouldn't be.

"Since I'm about to offer up my body to a bush," Harry asks as he steps closer, "might I kiss you first?"

Draco doesn't answer, just captures Harry's mouth with his own. It's a bit rushed, a bit off-center, and the best kiss of Harry's life. Draco's a bit taller than Harry is, which means that Harry has to tilt his head up, and the subtle twist of muscle sends fire racing through his blood. Draco cradles Harry's jaw in his hands, pulls him closer, makes the fear of the Forest disappear in a haze that can only be defined as _Draco_ and _incredible_.

"Harry," Draco says when he finally pulls away. "There's one other thing you need to know about the Siren's Tether."

"Oh, hell. Just get it over with."

"You're going to have to pretend you're not enjoying yourself." Another soft kiss, this one an apology. "It likes a bit of a fight."

Harry closes his eyes. "I'm going to fuck a _kinky_ plant."

"Sorry?"

Sighing, Harry steps back. "I don't think you are." It startles a laugh from Draco, which was the whole point. "Lead the way, and let's get this over with, yeah?"

"Right, of course." Draco takes a step forward, then takes Harry's hand in his. "I'll be as quick as I can."

Draco pulls Harry after him, pushing low-hanging branches out of the way so that they don't hit Harry. After a minute or two, they come into an open clearing covered with ivy. The leaves are wide and a deep green with five points radiating out from where they meet the vines. As Harry watches, they move as if a breeze had ruffled all of the leaves at once.

But they're deep in the forest now, and there's no wind to be found.

Something stirs.

"Better hurry up," Draco says quietly before reluctantly letting Harry's hand go. "It's waking up."

"What do I do?"

"Fight like hell," Draco says as he takes his satchel off and pulls out a pair of heavy gloves and a trowel.

Great.

Harry strides into the clearing, and as soon as his feet disappear into the ivy, he can feel it grabbing after him. It sends thin tendrils around his ankles, slipping under the hem of his trousers, tangling with the hair on his legs. It's like a thousand hands on him at once, all of them searching, questing, desperate.

"This feels really weird," Harry says before ripping his leg free. As soon as he sets it down, the plant's on him again. "Like _really_ weird."

"Yes, I know." The trowel cuts into the ground and Draco throws dirt over his shoulder. "I'm going as fast as I can."

"I don't think I like it very much," Harry says, though there's something pleasant about the plant's touch. Even though it's tenacious — he can feel a tendril curling around his knee already — there's a gentleness to the touch.

That disappears as soon as Harry pulls his legs free again.

Now, the vines wrap around his ankles and legs over the top of Harry's trousers. Their grip is tight, almost painful, and when Harry tries to get free again, they don't budge. More vines are racing toward him, sinuous things that quickly loop around his waist and wrists. Harry struggles, panting as it does nothing but tighten the vines around him.

"Draco," he says as another vine grabs at his throat, "please tell me you're almost done."

"I'm working on it!"

The vine on his throat winds its way around his neck until the end of the limp finds the plump edge of Harry's lips. As if seeking out the warm wetness of his mouth, the vine pushes at the corner of Harry's mouth. Harry clamps his mouth shut, but the vine keeps digging until it slips through and forces his jaw wide. The vine tastes like earth and greenery, like grass-flavoured Bertie Bott's, and then there's a hint of sweetness, something herbal and unknown leaking into Harry's mouth.

His ability to move severely restricted, he still manages to look down at the greenery wrapped around him and sees white sap leaking from the ends of the plant's vines. It's sticky and cloying, and it makes the sense of claustrophobia grow. Harry struggles again, but it's pointless. He's trapped.

And though he hates to admit it, he's aroused.

He knows that Draco's working as fast as he can, but Harry also knows that means Draco is looking at him, checking in on Harry between every scoop of soil he digs up. Draco is watching as this plant puts its tendrils in Harry's mouth, on Harry's skin, around Harry's thickening cock. The combination of immobility and the knowledge that Draco is witness to Harry's degradation, plus the slow, subtle movements of the plant as it caresses Harry's cock, has him wanting to struggle for another reason entirely.

He wants to writhe but he can't. Wants to moan, but his mouth is full. He takes panting breaths in through his nose and shivers as the vines travel under the waistband of his trousers to curl through the opening of his pants and around his cock. Their grip is just as vicious there as it is around his throat, and Harry would thrust into it if he could move.

But he can't give into the pleasure of it. Draco said the Siren's Tether liked a fight, so Harry fights. He tenses his muscles and arches his back, clenches his fists and screams around the thick vine in his mouth. It doesn't do anything to deter the plant, but it sends Harry's arousal sky-rocketing.

"Nearly done," Draco says, though his voice sounds far away and tinny. "Hold on just a bit longer."

And because Draco's asked him to, Harry holds on. He's always wanted to do what Draco tells him, and just like Harry was willing to follow Draco into the dark depths of the earth and the tombs of ancient kings, Harry is willing to trust Draco in this, too. 

If Harry were in any real danger, Draco would save him. If Harry were in any real danger, Draco wouldn't have let Harry take his place.

Pleasure curls low in his belly, tightens his balls, sends blood pounding through his arms and legs. He's getting close, and though the last thing Harry wants to do is come in front of Draco because of a bloody plant, he's fairly certain it might happen anyway.

"Done!" Draco shouts. A second later, there's a blue flame at the edge of the clearing, a hint of bright color in the corner of Harry's eye, and the plant shrieks like a wounded animal. Its vines and tendrils writhe away, releasing Harry as quickly as they'd consumed him. Startled and limp from exhaustion, Harry stumbles as soon as it lets him go, but Draco's there to catch him and drag Harry out of the clearing and into safety.

"I am so sorry," Draco pants. "I hope it wasn't too awful for you."

"No. No, it was fine." Harry turns his back to Draco and adjusts himself, wincing at his overly sensitive prick. The walk back to the Castle is going to be brutal. "I'm fine."

"I couldn't really see what it was doing," Draco says apologetically, and he forces Harry to turn around. His fingers are cool and questing as they run over Harry's throat. "I don't think it left any bruises, but we'll have to see tomorrow."

Harry tries not to groan at the feel of Draco's hands on Harry's reddened throat, but a bit of noise sneaks out. Draco must hear it because his frantic hands slow, then still.

"Harry," Draco says, voice suddenly darker and filled with intent, "is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"Not particularly."

"No secrets you might want to share? No desires you might want me to know?"

"Nope."

Draco's hands tighten on Harry's throat, and he groans.

"I don't appreciate it when you lie to me, Harry." Another squeeze, this one tighter, and Harry's knees go weak. "Tell me the truth. Did you like it?"

Harry's always wanted to do what Draco's asked of him.

"Yes." He swallows, feels his throat work against Draco's hands. "I liked you watching."

"Well isn't this a lovely turn of events?" Draco drags his hands from Harry's throat to his chest, then lower to cup him through his trousers. "It seems like you still need a bit of my help, don't you?"

A broken gasp of a word. "Please."

Draco opens Harry's trousers, then wraps his fingers around Harry's prick. He strokes it once, twice, then whispers into Harry's ear, "Come for me, Potter," and Harry does.

It'd be embarrassing if it weren't so fucking hot.

Draco keeps touching Harry long after he finishes coming. It's too much, but Harry doesn't tell Draco to stop. He trusts Draco, knows that he'd never put Harry through something he couldn't handle.

"Let's get you back to the Castle," Draco says, his hand sticky with come and the remnants of sap. "I need to get these roots into the storage room and you and I?" A meaningful squeeze that has Harry's knees weak again. "We've got some things to discuss."

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you write kink for 13 days in a row. I don't even know anymore.
> 
> Dedicated to shealwaysreads because of her Neville/Devil's Snare fic.


End file.
